Take Me Home
by WinterSky101
Summary: Sherlock hears that John's in the hospital and he drops everything to go to him. Major character death. NOT A HAPPY FIC. Some hints of Johnlock. Trigger warning for suicide.


**So I wrote this a while ago on Tumblr to go with a post (wintersky101 . tumblr .com(/)post/36001227618/a-weeping-angel-just-sherlock-deduction) and I thought I should post it here. Warning: NOT A HAPPY FIC! Trigger warning for suicide, I guess.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. Be glad of it.**

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When Mycroft tells Sherlock that John is in the hospital, he drops everything and runs. Literally. A cab seems far too slow and St. Bart's - a fitting and very ironic place for John to be - isn't that far away. Sherlock looks a little disheveled when he finally races through the doors of the hospital, but he doesn't care, he just has to get to John.

"John Watson. Where is he?" Sherlock demands of the receptionist, who looks up, startled.

"Room 443, but why-" Sherlock's already gone, ignoring the calls of "Sir, who are you?" and "You can't go in unless you're family!" Sherlock doesn't care if he's not technically related to John, they are family and Sherlock will be damned if he's not there.

The room is empty but for a small figure lying on the bed, hooked up to every monitor known to mankind, or so it seems to Sherlock. The heartrate monitor is beeping at a rate that's not quite steady, but it's close enough to calm Sherlock a bit. Sitting on the chair next to the bed, Sherlock takes John's hand in both of his and presses it to his face, kissing it gently before holding it against his cheek. John's in here for a drug overdose which everyone knows was an attempt at suicide and Sherlock can't help himself; he's crying, which is wrong, because he just deletes feelings like these, and yet the tears won't stop. John is lying in this hospital bed because of him, and Sherlock feels the guilt gnawing away at his heart.

Suddenly, he feels a small movement between his hands and realizes that John's hand has just moved. Sherlock looks up at John's face and sobs in relief when he sees John's eyes open. "Sherlock?" the ex-army doctor whispers, and there's another sob that Sherlock can't control.

"Yes, John. Yes. I'm here," Sherlock whispers. John smiles slightly.

"Have you come to take me home, Sherlock?" he asks. Sherlock smiles back, a watery smile, and wonders why he can't control his damn emotions.

"Yes, John, yes," Sherlock replies, and he can picture the two of them returning back to 221B and living there again, just as they had before Moriarty. John's smile widens and his eyes close. And then Sherlock knows something is wrong, something is horribly wrong, because the heartrate monitor says John is flatlining.

"No. No no no no no no no," Sherlock whispers, hurriedly checking John's wrist for a pulse - the monitor must be wrong, John isn't dead. But there's no beat. And Sherlock realizes what John meant when he asked if Sherlock was taking him home.

He thought that some apparition of Sherlock had come because he was about to die.

The doctors enter the room a moment later and Sherlock is dragged away from John's side, still crying and wondering why he can't stop. Sherlock can see the doctors trying and trying but John's heart just won't start again. It won't beat. "Alright. Let's call it," one of the doctors finally says. Sherlock wants to scream at him because John isn't dead, John cannot be dead goddamn it, the machine is wrong.

Except it's not, and John is gone forever.

And Sherlock knows what he has to do.

An hour later, he's standing in the living room at 221B. He's said his goodbyes to the flat, to the memories it holds, and now he's ready. This is the place where he and John lived, the place where they spent every day for the years before Moriarty made his final move, the place where Sherlock slowly but surely began to fall in love with John, where he finally found a man that could break through his emotionless facade and reach the true man within.

This is the place where Sherlock left John.

And now, it's the place where John has left Sherlock.

"Not for long," Sherlock whispers. He picks up the gun on the chair next to him, the British Army Browning L9A1, John's military issue gun that's been in the flat for as long as either Sherlock or John has lived there. Sherlock has his own gun, but it seems fitting to use John's.

Mrs. Hudson wakes up from the uneasy sleep she had managed to fall into after calling an ambulance for John to the sound of a single gunshot echoing through the building.

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**Please don't kill me.**


End file.
